


Grunkles Out at Pink Sea

by Cutiebat



Category: Gravity Falls, Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Seaweed Steven!, Stangst, they are out at sea, they have a boat, they see some pink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:07:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26263138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cutiebat/pseuds/Cutiebat
Summary: Inspired by Just a Little Time in Gravity Falls by universetrash. (Check it out!! It's so good!)Stan and Ford Pines are enjoying their last bit of time out at sea when they come across something weird (not like that alone is anything new). The ocean turns pink and strange creatures appear out of nowhere. Nothing else to say, I'm bad at summaries. A lot will happen. Like they will have no fish, for example. Idk read it.
Comments: 21
Kudos: 140





	1. Getting a Sample

**Author's Note:**

  * For [universetrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/universetrash/gifts).
  * Inspired by [just a little time in gravity falls](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23874574) by [universetrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/universetrash/pseuds/universetrash). 



> https://archiveofourown.org/works/23874574/chapters/57389689#workskin
> 
> I was inspired by universetrash's mention of Ford and Stanley coming across the pink acid that was pouring in from Spinel's ship and their encounter of little Seaweed Stevens in their fic. I wanted to write a fic about it, so here's the first chapter. I was planning on making it a oneshot but I got too excited and wanted to post it immediately. So here's chapter one! Enjoy!

The wind blew over the waves, scattering sea salt across the waters and over the sail. The sun shined its warm rays, no cloud covering it. Stanley leaned over the railways, contentedly sipping on the last of his Pitt Cola. Although he and his brother Stanford set out to find the adventure they have always dreamed of as kids, he finds happiness in peaceful moments like these, watching the clouds drift over them and the ocean. Perhaps it’s the result of going on too many trips through danger and, the more likely theory, a result of growing old.

Stan decided to shrug that last thought off. He’s still got a couple years left. He won’t let go of his life without a fight, not before seeing more experiences of what the world has to offer. Plus, Dipper and Mabel still haven’t gone past their milestones in life: going to prom, graduating high school, going to college, maybe even getting married and having kids. Yeah, he’ll still be around for that. Ford can cook up some immortality science thingamajig. Or maybe that’s a bad idea and he should just accept fate or whatever. Perhaps he should instead start eating some carrots and lift more weights. Ford has always griped at him about that.

His intuition skills must be flying off the charts because at that thought of Ford, Stanley heard him call out.

“Stanley! I’m about to cook up some dinner but that means we’ll be using up our last supply of fish! Can you catch some?”

“Sure thing, Sixer!” Stanley called back. He finished up the last of his drink before crushing it and tossing it into the bin. After grabbing up his fisherman gear and a chair, Stanley hooked his line out to the waters and played the waiting game. Which… took a little longer than he thought it would. Actually, nothing even happened. Not until he noticed a pink glow and some storm clouds approaching them.

“Uhhhh…. Ford??” Stanley called. “You might wanna see this!” Stanford heard the edge in his voice and ran over with a weapon ready. But instead of facing a sea creature, Stanford saw the same pink glow his brother is seeing.

“What is that?” He said, adjusting his glasses. Could it be a trick of the light? The only thing different after fixing his vision is that that aura is even closer along with the dark clouds covering it.

“I’m gonna fix the sails and reorganize some shit,” said Stanley before running off. Stanford merely nodded before bracing himself to face another anomaly. He was hoping that this week would be peaceful but it seems that weirdness keeps happening left and right. It’s as if Gravity Falls own weirdness magnetism has rubbed off of him and he is suffering its effects. He walked back to the inside of the cabin and finished cooking dinner, hoping they would at least have time to eat it all.

Dinner was more grim than usual. The two ate as quickly as they can, not bothering to savor their meal, and they cleaned up right after it. They needed to be prepared before the storm hits and they especially need their energy now if they are risking any sort of sleep for the sake of keeping their ship and themselves safe. With the last dish dried and put away in safekeeping, no risk of breaking from tumbling around, Stan and Ford brought out some gear, weapons, protection, protein bars to keep their energy high, a journal to record any findings, and a camera in case something funny happens out of this mayhem. Hopefully, anyways.

They stood near the railing, ready for the worst to happen. The storm was only a couple moments away, the pink aura, now realized as pink waters, approaching closer and closer at lightening speed.

“Ford, have you ever seen anything like this?” Stanley asked, glancing at Ford.

“No. I’m afraid this is new to me,” muttered Ford, not breaking his gaze from the view.

“Shit, then we’re screwed,” grumbled Stan. If Ford doesn’t know what this is, then he wouldn’t know how to handle it and they’ll all die. At least it will be an epic death and they’ll be remembered as heroes. Silver lining.

“Don’t worry, Stanley,” said Ford, trying to cheer up his brother with a pat on his shoulder. “If anything, this could be a new discovery!”

“If we’ll make it out alive,” said Stanley, though the smirk was undeniable.

“Knowing you, you wouldn’t be going down without a fight,” said Ford. They shared a laugh, before watching the danger approach closer, a mere seconds before it would hit them.

“You ready?” asked Ford, readying his gear and glancing at his brother with a smile.

“Like hell I am,” said Stanley, though his stance was the same. A weapon ready and a smile, prepared to face their doom.

The waters washed under them, the color glowing bright, nearly blinding them. The storm clouds blew over but without rain. It was merely dark and gloomy and depressing.

“…Huh. I… thought that would be a lot more terrible,” said Stanley, looking up at the clouds, surprised there was no rain or hail or acid. Ford was surprised too, despite the fact they didn’t see any coming, though it never appeared there would be any at all. But Ford thought that sometimes it’s best to expect the worst so that you’re not caught unprepared.

Ford looked over the railing and watched the glow of the deep ocean, completely pink in hue.

“I’m going to collect a sample,” Ford said, wide-eyed in awe.

“Yeah? How you gonna know it’s not poisonous?” growled Stanley. Is this really the time to act all nerdy instead of turning the boat away from the danger?

“By collecting a sample of it, Stanley,” Ford muttered angrily at him.

“Hey, at least put on some gloves first. I don’t want you to lose a finger and become normal,” Stan said as he shoved a pair of six-fingered gloves at Ford. Ford glared down at these before looking up at him with a smile. Why must he act like such a grouch all the time when he is really such a softie? Ford knows why and has never bothered to change Stan’s inconveniencing little quirk. He accepts the gloves with a smile.

“I won’t lose a finger and become normal, Stanley,” said Ford. “You stay here and keep an eye on the waters while I go fetch some vials and a rope.”

“Aye aye, Captain Sixer,” Stan said, saluting Ford. As Ford went off to fetch said materials, Stan looked over to the sea, worrying about what kind of horrible things are going on to cause all this mess. A curse? Monster blood? Alien goop? Climate change? Whatever it was, it was giving him the willies. He rubbed his arm as an attempt to soothe his nerves.

Stanford came back with gear at the ready and tied the rope at a hook attached to the wall of the cabin. After making sure it was secure, he handed the rope to Stanley.

“Make sure this doesn’t rip,” he said.

“Gotcha,” Stanley replied as he grasped it in his calloused hands. Ford slipped on his specially tailored gloves made of carbon fiber and cotton and hoisted himself over the ship with the athleticism of an expert rock climber. With the rope secured to the belt on his waist, Ford used his hands and slid down closer and closer to the surface of the ocean. He let go with one hand to fish out a glass bottle from his pocket and slowly, carefully dipped the bottle into the waters. The lip of the container gently dropped into the water’s surface, the pink liquid flowing in. Ford turned his hand, gradually allowing the water to pour in and fill the vessel up.

The bottle was almost full when a loud bang of thunder roared across the sea and startled Ford, too focused on his mission, and accidentally slipped the tips of his gloved fingers down into the waters. He heard sizzling and immediately dropped the vial and looked down at his hand. The pink water is acidic after all. Ford gripped the edge of his glove in his teeth and tore it away, pulled the rope attached to his waist twice.  
“Stanley!” Ford shouted, a bit muffled with the glove in his mouth, but Stan didn’t need to hear his exact words to know that Ford was in trouble and needed to get back up now. He gripped the rope and with all his strength, he quickly pulled Ford back over the boat.

“Ford! Are you alright? What happened?” Stanley yelled as he looked over Ford, clearly panicked at the thought that Ford did hurt himself. The exact thing he was worried about. He looked at his bare hand and saw that it was okay, no signs of injury anywhere. Ford took the glove out from his teeth and presented it to Stan.

“Look,” was all he said. And Stan saw that the acid had burned its way through the fingers, turning it into a fingerless glove. Stanford had managed to get it off just in time before it could damage his own hand.

“Holy shit,” Stanley breathed out. “You nearly did lose a finger.”

“It was as you said, Stanley. These waters are not safe,” Ford put the glove down and unbuckled the rope from his belt. “I’m going to need to layer the toughest of my gloves over my hands to ensure that I can collect a sample without getting hurt.”

“What about the bottle? That shit just might burn it through,” Stan mentioned.

“Don’t worry, Stanley,” Ford assured. “If I use the right one, the sample will be safe inside there.”

“You always say that before something bad is about to happen,” Stan growled, crossing his arms. Ford could only laugh a bit nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well, it’s worth a shot.”

A moment of thoughtful silence has passed as Ford put away his gear and damaged glove, no longer useful for protection but at least can be used for gripping tools and such. Ford got up to fetch more tools while Stanley stayed behind, about to say something but left it behind. He was hoping that maybe they would give it a rest and try again later, already feeling tired. But he knew Ford wouldn’t want to tuck for the night just yet. The waters might return to normal and Ford would miss his chance studying his new samples. Not to mention, when Ford gets going with the excitement of a new experiment, there’s no slowing him down. Stan decided to simply stay put, praying that this would be quick and all he would have to do is watch over Ford as collects the strange liquid and then later hit the hay, leaving Ford to his own devices.

Sure enough, that’s what happened, much to Stanley’s relief. Ford’s idea of layering his gloves worked and he made sure to dip the vial in quickly and smoothly. It no longer was a matter of being slow and cautious as it was far more important to be quick and careful. Ford was satisfied with the amount he had gotten and went on inside to change into his lab coat and start experimenting. Stanley cleaned up the area around him and followed Ford inside, dressing down to his pajamas and heading off for bed after a quick bid of goodnight.

Stanford didn’t sleep until much later, about one in the morning, as he was too busy running many tests on his new discovery, jotting down notes left and right. When he finally got to bed, it took him a while to sleep for the worrisome thoughts he had regarding his tests were busy running around in his head, despite having them written down in his journal. He knew he had to tell Stanley about them soon. But now… well, now it is time for bed. He will tell him tomorrow morning.


	2. Brainstorming Session

Ford woke up early as usual, rising out of bed, groaning as his joints crack. He looked out of the window next to him and all he saw was a dark and gloomy shade of blue meeting a bright pink. He groggily blinked at the sight and looked down at his hand. He remembered reading a tip somewhere that an easy way to tell if he was dreaming is to see if he had an incorrect number of fingers. Ford had his usual six. He then checked the clock on the wall, twice to see if it had changed in a span of a few seconds, another tip he had read. After seeing that the hands had remained the same, Ford could read that it was eight in the morning, despite the darkness outside and the odd glow of pink. The gears turned slowly in his head but then clicked as the memories of yesterday flooded in. Ford rubbed his tired eyes and rolled out of bed. If the lack of light keeps up, it might mess up their circadian rhythm. He would have to use the winter lamps to stave off any seasonal depression they were prone to.

Stanford walked to the kitchen, opening the cooler to check up on their supply, only to remember that they were out of fish. He will have to remind Stanley to catch some today. Until then, they’ll just have a fruit salad garnished with nuts for lunch. He brought out some chips and snacked on them, an easy breakfast, though he’d rather have cereal instead. It was best enjoyed with milk though, something they were unfortunately lacking. Perhaps they’ll stop by a store when they arrive at Delmarva. Ford brought out a pen and a piece of paper to write down a list of things they need. Fish, milk, cereal, nuts, gloves, et cetera. Jotting down notes had jogged another memory from Ford. His notes from last night. He folded the list and put it away in a drawer and went to fetch his notebook to review.

As he reread the notes from last night, his blood ran cold for Stanford began to remember the experiments he had performed with the sample.

_‘Dipped lettuce leaf into sample. Instantly crumbled and vaporized. Tested twice. Same result._

_Dipped slice of tomato into sample. Fizzed and vaporized. Tested twice. Same result._

_Dipped fish bone into sample. Fizzed and broke apart. Vaporized. Tested three times. Same result._

_Dipped piece of iron into sample. No significant differences. Tested four times. Same result._

_Dipped piece of graphite lead into sample. Slowly fizzed. Tested twice. Same result._

_Dipped piece of plastic into sample. No significant differences. Tested five times. Same result._

_Conclusion: Subject is greatly acidic when organic, carbon-based products are involved. Extremely dangerous. Will affect our saltwater food supply. Tell Stanley!!’_

No matter how one reads it, there is no denying that unless Ford can figure out how to grow plants that can provide protein, the two will have to alter their diets until they escape to different, less acidic waters. Or they could do the right thing and stay to solve the issue at hand, not just for them but for everyone who is and will be involved. If left unresolved, the acid could affect the ecosystem, the local food supply, the people who rely on said food supply, the economy, people’s livelihoods, and the list goes on and on. Ford shut his eyes with his palm against his forehead, desperately forcing his thoughts to halt before they work him into a frenzy. He must stay calm if he wants to address the issue with a solution in mind. But more importantly, he must stay calm for Stanley as he must be the bearer of bad news. At the thought of Stanley, he mused that Stan did need to eat healthier. Maybe this acid thing wouldn’t be so bad in the meantime. Silver lining. But either way, the long-term consequences are far more dire and the two must come up with some sort of plan if they want to resolve anything.

Ford groaned, sliding his palm down to cup his mouth, exhaling a sullen sigh. Not a great way to start the morning. He put the chips away, appetite already gone, though he knew he needed the fuel for a more productive morning. But what does it matter? Why bother eating, asked a voice in his head. Ford suppressed it the best he could, much like how he unsuccessfully suppressed a groan as he opened a fridge to grab something, anything, to give him nutrition. The best he could do, however, was to grab a can of Pitt Cola, not thirsty enough for something as bland as water but rather something sweet and alluring, a good motivator to give himself some sort of substance. Honestly, he would rather have something more alcoholic, but it was far too early. Even with his lack of common sense, his encyclopedic knowledge allows him to understand that drinking something boozy this early just to forget any bad thoughts was irresponsible.

Stanford sipped at his sugary drink and walked down the hall. Opening the door, he saw Stanley sitting at the bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The sight of his sleepy twin brought back happier memories from his childhood and Ford felt a smile tugging at his lips, grateful for the bits of oxytocin and serotonin flowing through his brain for once. Something he felt he desperately needed after the floods of cortisol from earlier.

“Slept well?” Ford asked Stanley, leaning against the doorframe.

“Like a baby,” mumbled Stan. Ford chuckled as he sat down on the chest by the bed. He fiddled with the rim of his soda can, trying to organize his thoughts and plan out the best way to announce the news without depressing Stanley. But every imagined conversation ended the same way: Stanley disappointed and upset, which makes Ford disappointed and upset. Hadn’t they gone through enough already? Especially Stan?

Stan looked at his brother, twin instincts already firing up, though it would take none of those to realize that Ford was troubled. But Stan could feel it, his brothers emotions flowing through him as if they were his own. Empathy, however, doesn’t bless people with tact and Stan wasn’t fortunate enough to even have a little of it, as he awkwardly pondered over what he should say. What would anyone say? Hey, you look like you just came back from a funeral. Wanna give me all the details, especially the really depressing ones? Yikes.

Stanley felt the need to probe, though, knowing that Ford does have something to say but wouldn’t open his mouth unless prompted. Sucking in some breath through his nose, Stanley asked the best question that comes to mind.

“So what’s up? Did someone die?” How delicate. Ford shook his head, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“No,” Ford chuckled softly. “I do, unfortunately, have some bad news about the experiments I ran last night.” Stanley recalled the mention of those yesterday and knew he must brace himself for whatever bad news Ford has to say about the results. He sighed, sitting back with his palms supporting his weight on the bed.

“Alright. Shoot.” Ford looked him in the eye, his smile fading away as he looked back down at his hands folded, arms resting on his thighs.

“Our diets will have to change for a short while,” honestly, Ford doesn’t know how long it will remain like this. “The acid in the waters has destroyed the entire ecosystem, as my experiments have suggested. Every piece of organic matter crumbles in an instant. We’ll have to rely on the food we grow on the ship for the time being. We’ll also need to figure out a way to solve this conundrum.”

Stanley took his time processing the information, still in the midst of waking up. When it clicked in his head, he looked down at the floor.

“…I guess we’re going vegan then,” he mumbled. Ford chuckled.

“Well, that’s one way of putting it. But hey, you’ll finally eat healthy now.” Stan grinned in amusement before the humor faded away as it is replaced by a more troubling thought.

“How we gonna solve this?”

“… I don’t know.” Ford shook his head. _Great,_ thought Stanley. A moment of silence passed, and the two sat awkwardly, not knowing what to say but feeling as though they have to say something. But words just won’t come. Stanley stood up from the bed, already given up on trying to carry on the conversation.

“Toilet,” he grumbled, sauntering off. Ford mumbled in acknowledgment, not looking up.

* * *

A crumpled piece of paper hit the rim of a metal trash can before falling to the floor. It wouldn’t have made it in either way. The bin was far too full to accept any more tossed ideas. Ford tore off another piece of paper from a notepad, brainstorming another idea on how to purify the waters before the acid destroys the entire ecosystem. But with so many failures, new ideas just won’t come. Ford felt his leg bounce uncontrollably and his bottom lip felt sore from his biting. He tried to calm himself down, sitting up straight in his chair, closing his eyes. Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out. In. Out. He flexed his hands and then relaxed them. He rubbed his thighs, feeling the fabric of his pants against his palms. He perked his ears for the gentle sound of the ocean, the waves hitting against the boat. He pictured the water lapping as he listened and imagined the aquatic life underneath the surface. There is no life under it. They are gone. The acid burned them up, killing them, destroying their homes, ruining everything in its wake. The acid will spread far and wide on its murderous rampage. People will starve, the shops will close, the economy will tank, everyone will suffer-

Ford stood up from his desk abruptly. His thoughts are running too wildly for him to handle. He paced the room, trying to calm himself down. But he mustn’t stop thinking. Mustn’t stop pondering. Deliberating. Planning. Brainstorming. A vacuum pump, sucking the ocean in through a filter, separating the acid from the water. A machine that will create a continuous earthquake, shaking the waters around in a circle, making the acid settle either on the bottom or on the surface, depending on its density, making it easier to collect it. A concoction, ranked basic on the pH scale, that will neutralize the acid.

Stanley wandered in, checking to see how his brother is doing only to be disappointed. He’s stressed out again, too lost in nerd world to even realize his own brother is standing in the doorway.

“Sixer. …Sixer!” Stanley called. Ford kept on pacing, his hand on his chin with his elbow propped up on the other hand. He was like a robot, never deterring from his path, never stuttering, stumbling, or tripping. If he were to walk out from the room, which is very unlikely, his body would’ve gone right around Stan, missing every obstacle in his way as his body autopilots through the cabin. Stanley placed his hand on Ford’s shoulder, knowing the only way to shut off his robotic friend was to make physical contact. Create an obstacle in his path, if you will. The contact startled Ford and he grabbed Stan’s arm to defend himself from whatever attack he expected. He twisted the arm around behind his back and wrapped his other arm around Stan’s neck, neutralizing his opponent.

“OW! FUCK!” Stanley cried. “Ford, it’s me! It’s Stan!” Stanley grasped the arm around his neck to pry it off. Ford gasped in surprise, now realizing he was not dealing with an enemy.

“Sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry…” Ford muttered apologies over and over as he pulled away, fixing up Stanley, smoothing out any wrinkles on his clothes. Stan pushed his hands away.

“It’s fine. Geez, man,” Stan muttered. “You know, you really oughta relax for once. Not everything is out to get you, you know.”

“I know,” Ford mumbled, embarrassed.

“Like, hell, if it were anyone else, you could’ve broken their arm in half.”

“I know,” Ford mumbled, looking at the floor, fumbling with his hands.

“What the hell were you so worked up on anyways?”

“I know.”

“…Seriously?”

“Huh?” Ford wasn’t listening to a word he had to say. He was too busy thinking about himself, berating himself for being so high-strung. He should’ve known better than to attack whoever or whatever touches him. Just like how he should know how to clean up all the acid in the ocean. Time is running out and he needs to act fast. But in order to act, he must think of something first. Why can’t he think of anything?

“For fuck’s sake, Ford!” Stan slapped his palm to his forehead, dragging it up and carding his hair out of the way. Ford averted his eyes away from Stan again. He wanted to be angry at him, point out whatever Stanley should’ve done. But honestly, did Stanley even do anything wrong? He was just trying to help. Stan sighed, completely exasperated, and grabbed Ford’s arm, dragging him out of the room.

“Come on,” Stan growled. “We’re getting you some fresh air.” Ford protested, insisting that he’s fine, he doesn’t need any breaks. In fact, he shouldn’t be taking any. He should be working. But Stanley was having none of it. Once they reached outside, Stan shoved Ford down onto a chair, already propped up and next to another with a cooler in between them.

“Got this set up for ya,” said Stan. “You were going to need this eventually.”

“Stanley, I don’t think I would enjoy sitting out here and being constantly reminded about our situation,” Ford said, gesturing out to the waters.

“Just shut up and stay put. You’ll think of _something_ in that big brain of yours,” Stan replied, taking a seat. He lifted the lid of the cooler.

“Beer?” He offered a can to Ford, taking one for himself. Ford, after glancing down at the drink, reluctantly took one for himself, secretly relieved he now has a chance to satisfy his cravings from this morning. Maybe it will even free his mind a little, be less critical of whatever idea comes his way. Stanley sipped his drink and leaned back into his chair with a sigh.

“Nothing like some booze to take your mind off things,” Stan exhaled, filled with contentment. Ford clicked the can open and drank. He leaned over, resting on his legs while gazing out to the sea. The sight of the acid, glowing bright and pink, troubled him greatly. Just how bad is the damage out there? How fast has it been traveling? How far did to go? How many lifeforms did it kill? What more will it do? When will it stop? Will it ever stop?

Ford shook his head, doing his best to get whatever bad thoughts that were running around out of him. Stanley put so much effort into making him relax. He should try and meet him halfway instead of spiraling into another mess of paranoia. He looked down at his drink again, remembering what it is, why it exists, why people drink it, why Stan got it out for him. He took a big gulp of his beer, trying to get as much alcohol into his body as quickly as he can, which Stan didn’t miss. He chugged and chugged until the can was empty, crushing it and then throwing it behind, not caring if he missed the trashcan. He dove his hand into the cooler to grab another, wiping his lips with his sleeve. Before Ford could open the can, Stan reached out and grabbed his hand.

“Woah, woah! Hold on, Sixer,” Stan said. “You haven’t even eaten anything in like the past three hours! Let’s at least wait another 15 minutes until you grab another drink, alright?” Ford stared at him, hesitating, before looking down and then nodding. He lowered his drink, deciding not to open it, but not willing to put it down or back into the cooler. Slowly, he traced the rim of the can with his thumb, feeling how cold it is.

“I just…” Stan glanced up at him. “I just can’t seem to think of anything… How does one clean the ocean? In such little time?”

Stan felt his lips tighten, trying to piece whatever comforting words he could say to his poor brother. Of course, none would come. He’s not a little kid. No ‘there there’s would be of any help. No ice cream to make him forget. Alcohol would help in the moment but it sure as hell won’t solve anything. But it’s the best he’s got.

“I’m hoping… maybe…” Ford continued, luckily for Stan. “This drink will somehow… free my mind. Ideas will come more easily and I… won’t be so critical of them. I would actually have an idea, one I won’t ignore, no matter how ridiculous it initially seems.” Stan stared a moment longer before looking down. He then saw the ocean; how pink it is. It’s so stupidly pink. It’s like a goddamn nightmare from Mabel’s art projects and cartoons. For like the hundredth time, he sighed.

“Well, almost ten more minutes or so, and you can have another swig,” he said. “I’ll make sure you won’t get sick.” Ford hummed in acknowledgment. Stan felt this wasn’t enough. And he sure as hell shouldn’t encourage Ford to keep on drinking to get ideas running. He’ll become an alcoholic at this rate. He needs to lift his spirits somehow. Not knowing what else to do, he put his hand on Ford’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry, man. We’ll figure something out. You’re stupidly smart in a real bookish way and I managed to rebuild a portal without ever getting completely caught by the Feds. I think we can tackle this.” Ford finally looked Stan in the eye, seeing his sincereness. Unwilling to stop himself, he felt a smile form on his face.

“Yeah,” he said, exhaling, feeling his shoulders sag, the tension leaving just a little bit. “We will solve this, eventually.” He gazed out into the ocean with Stan, gently holding his now forgotten beverage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S DONE!! YAYYY! IT'S DONE! This one I'm much more confident with. I really like how this turned out. There's still more to be done, but I'm happy with what I've written so far. It took longer than I initially planned but it's out! I hope you guys have enjoyed reading it!


	3. Pink Fish

_It was hot. It was very, very hot. Pulsating, burning, melting. Blue fire. Eyes. Afraid. So afraid. Memories disappearing. Losing sense of self. Get out. Get out! GET OUT!_

He gasped, eyes shooting up only to see a brown ceiling full of cracks in its wood. He felt himself rocking as if he was cradled by some motherly figure, which didn’t soothe his nerves. If anything, it had the opposite effect, making him feel nauseous. Where is he? What time is it? What is the date? Who is he? Why is he here? After a moment or two, memories came flooding back. _Oh, that’s right_ , he thought. He’s Stanley Pines, a man in his early sixties who once did criminal work to get by and get his twin brother, Stanford, back. And he occasionally still does. Force of habit. He has a family, ran a successful business, saved his brother, and now the two twins are on an adventure of a lifetime like they had once promised when they were kids. 

He didn’t get all of his memories back. He doesn’t remember the details of being trapped in a car, being stuck in poverty and using whatever means to get out of it, being in jail, fighting with Ford and then losing him, the apocalypse, his father. He and Stanford concluded that his brain was probably doing it on purpose, and maybe it’s best if they left it to its own devices. Life is better now, and Stanley has gone through enough. But the absence of his memories doesn’t erase the scars left behind. The random feelings of helplessness, fear, anger, self-loathing, and loneliness. The strange sense of deja vu at the weirdest, most disturbing moments of his life. That sick feeling in his stomach when Ford goes off on his own or when he hears some man yelling at someone or when he is tangled up in something like sheets and has to struggle to get out of them. And the nightmares. Oh god, the nightmares. They can be so outrageous, and whenever he tries to make sense of them, they only spiral him down, further and further into a cycle of panic. Ford refuses to tell him anything; _I don’t want those awful memories to come back, memories I’ve been trying to forget myself._ Stan agrees somewhat, but the nagging feeling of being afraid of something but not knowing what it is is maddening. 

_This is stupid_ , Stanley thought, using all of his effort to rise up from his bed. His joints cracked. He is so damn stiff, it’s annoying. He reached to the curtains by his bed and pulled them open. Another memory came in when he saw the pink ocean and the dark, stormy skies. He remembers Ford getting so damn caught up in trying to solve this mystery. Why can’t they just leave? Because the problem will only get worse unless they stay and try to fix it. What if they just end up spending the rest of their lives trying to fix something that can’t be fixed? What if they die and nothing has changed? 

_Ugh, this is so stupid_ , Stanely thought, rising out of bed. He stretched, hearing several pops throughout his bones, groaning at the satisfying yet annoying pain. It’s so annoying and the pain is annoying and feelings are annoying and everything is so fucking annoying. Why can’t he just get some peace for one damn second of his life? He walked over to the dresser to pull out some clothes, accidentally kicking something in his way. Startled, Stanley looked down and saw an empty beer can. Looking up at the top of the dresser, he saw there were some more, plus an open bag of chips. The more he looked around the room, the more he saw the same, plus a pile of dirty clothes strewn about. Another memory came in. He gave Ford a break yesterday from all that brainstorming, and the two partied a little until it was bedtime. And now they have a mess to clean up.

Stanley groaned at the idea of cleaning up, but he doesn’t want to hear another one of Ford’s lectures. But before he can do all that, he should at least get washed up and ready. He gathered some fresh clothes from the drawers and walked over to the shower, something he and Ford built together, which collects water from the large container they've brought on board. The dirty water then runs through a filter and the contents of it are automatically disposed of outside. It's a convenience that should never be left behind at dry land. Ford originally planned to have the water come from the ocean, and Stanley is grateful he shot that down, what with the water now being acidic and all. Stanley turned the hot water on, getting the shower warm and ready as he stripped out of his underwear and tossed it into the laundry bin. Clean, fresh, and completely clothed, Stan stepped out and tidied up the room with a plastic grocery bag in his hand. He swept up any crumbs, gathered the sheets from their beds and threw them in the washing machine, another appliance they ingeniously hooked up to the boat. He stepped out to the galley, tossed the trash away, and retrieved himself a water bottle. Now, he could finally relax. All his work was done. If there’s anything left to do, it was to check on Ford. He’s not in his bed, as usual as he is an early riser. Worried he might be dealing with a bad hangover, Stanley fetched another water bottle and went outside, knowing Ford will be out there, enjoying the fresh air. 

The lack of the salty smell of the ocean unnerves Stanley. It was his most favorite part of being outside, basking in the sun and remembering happier times of his childhood. Now it’s just pink and dark and super, super weird. It’s all he could think of whenever he looks out. How odd it looks and how it makes him feel. Stanley saw Ford leaning over the rails, which made him wonder just how bad his hangover had gotten. But then he could see him peering out to the ocean, looking at something. Something that had definitely caught his eye. Ford heard Stanley’s boots thudding across the floors and called out to him.

“Stan! Come see this!” He yelled. Stanley walked over beside him and looked at what he was pointing to. A pink light, several shades lighter, was heading this way. 

“Oh come on,” Stanley complained. “Not another one!”

“This might be worse than the acid before,” Ford said. “I want to believe it’s a cure for our predicament-”

“Like hell it would be,” Stan mumbled. Ford glared at him for interrupting.

“But,” Ford continued. “It would be unwise to be optimistic at this time. We need to prepare ourselves.” 

“Like last time?”

“Yes, like time.” Stan prayed that they won’t have to use any of their tools.

“Come on,” Stan said, nudging Ford. “Let’s get some breakfast first. We still got some protein bars.” Ford nodded and the two walked back to the kitchen. They ate their meal, packed some extra bars and readied their gear. Stan picked up a camera. Maybe they’ll get some cool shots and live to tell the tale. 

They walked outside and saw that the light was approaching much faster than the last one. It was only a couple of seconds before it washed over the sea, nearly blinding them. It didn’t help that the clouds were whisked away with the acid, making the sunlight beat down into their eyes. They groaned, covering their faces, taking a moment before squinting at the sight before them. They were stunned. The ocean that was once pink is now blue, bright, clear, and very, very beautiful. The lack of cloudy weather allowed them to see for miles all around them. They looked over the boat and almost lost their breath.

A small fish leaped out.

“...Fish,” Ford breathed. “It’s… a fish!” Stan started to giggle in amazement.

“It’s a fish!” Ford yelled, his grip tightening on the board, unable to contain his excitement. “There’s fish! There’s life!”

More fish started to leap out of the waters as the two started to cheer. They danced around, pumping their fists into the air, whooping and hollering, hugging each other and giving each other high-sixes as they celebrated.

“There’s fish! There’s life! The ecosystem is saved! Everything is saved! We’re okay!”

Ford leaned over the railway and pointed at the ocean.

“Look!” He cried. “Look, Stanley! Look! There’s so much!” Stanley joined and saw schools of fish swimming all around them, enough to fill ten seafood restaurants. His stomach growled at the thought. He can’t wait to start catching some.

“Holy shit!” Stanley guffawed. “There’s millions of them!”

“I know! Isn’t it wonderful?” As if on cue, a pink fish leaped out of the waters.

“Look!” Ford pointed at it. “That one’s pink!” The two laughed and laughed.

“What are the odds? What an ugly color! I’m sick of pink! Pink fish, pink fish, pink fish!” They chanted, joining their hands and dancing around in a circle. 

“Oh my fucking God!” Stan chortled. “How is this even possible?”

“I don’t know!” Ford exclaimed. “I… I don’t know.”

Stan’s giggles died down as he saw the sudden change in Ford’s mood. Ford slowly, as if in a daze, walked over the rail and leaned over, peering into the ocean. They could see miles and miles, below to the surface. Maybe even into the bottom, right to the floor of the sea. Stan walked over to Ford to get a better look at his expression. A sudden realization dawned.

“Shit,” Stan slapped a palm to his forehead. “This is far too good to be true.” 

“How is this even possible?” Ford asked, mostly to himself. Or to some all-knowing deity who will give him the answers.

“This could be real bad,” Stan muttered. The fish won’t stop leaping out, especially the pink fish, along with those who are covered in pink patches. The two watched in silence, trying to figure out what could’ve caused this. Some sort of explanation to this madness. Madness. That’s exactly what it is. It’s not like it’s anything new, but beforehand, their adventures usually had some logical explanation. They knew how to deal with sirens, harpies, zombies of drowned sailors. And if they didn’t know, it was quickly found out. Everything obeyed the laws of physics, the laws of their reality. This was entirely new. And it scared Ford. 

It was scaring Ford. He didn’t know. He was supposed to know. He was supposed to have answers. Why doesn’t he have answers? Why wasn’t this solved? Why was their previous problem solved so quickly? Has it really been solved or were they simply lead into false hope? 

“...ord… Ford!” Stanford jolted, startled at the sound of his name at such volume. He then groaned at the realization that he had been zoning out, again. 

“Sorry,” Ford mumbled, feeling guilty. “Go on, Stan.”

“I was going to ask if you had some sort of plan, but I guess now’s not the right time.”

“No,” Ford shook his head and grabbed Stanley by the shoulders. “No, no, no, no, no. Now is the perfect time to ask me if I have some sort of plan. I need to think of something. We need to investigate this.”

“Orrrrrrr,” Stan said, looking off to the side while shrugging his shoulders. “We could just pretend it’s all been solved and go on our way. Eh? I know it’s freaky and yeah, sure. _Maybe_ things aren’t any better than they were before. But what can we do about it? Don’t pretend this ain’t been stressing you out.”

Ford paused for a moment before removing his hands from Stanley, now propping an elbow on his palm while resting his hand on his chin.

“... We could go fishing,” he suggested.

“What?” 

“The more I look at these fish, the more I realize we could use them to figure out what exactly has been happening. Not to mention, we’ve been needing some for a while now, haven’t we?” Ford looked at Stanley with a lop-sided grin and one eyebrow raised. Stanley couldn’t turn down the offer to go fishing. It’s a fun, peaceful, productive way to pass the time and he has been craving some for a while since they’ve used up their last stock. Stanley knows that Ford is manipulating him, but he can’t refuse. He might as well play along. Besides, if the pink fish don’t turn out to be poisonous, they might taste good. Better even.

“Alright, Sixer,” Stan said, grinning a little. He walked off to grab his gear while Ford stayed behind. Ford watched the fish, still leaping as if they, too, were celebrating their rebirth. He grabbed his camera and captured a few shots. He felt excitement bubbling up in him again. It _is_ too good to be true, but now, he has a funny feeling that things might turn out to be okay. It felt as though he had been blessed by some healer, someone who will be there for him and listen to everything he had to say. He doesn’t know why or how, but still. It was getting harder and harder to suppress the smile creeping upon his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand another one! This was meant to be the last chapter, but I couldn't resist posting this one. It was going to be super long, so I cut it short. Next chapter should the last one. I hope you've enjoyed reading this one!
> 
> Btw, I got the missing memories idea from this link right here!  
> https://busket.tumblr.com/post/139412771068/busket-stan-and-ford-get-to-catch-up-on-their


	4. Seaweed Guests

Fish kept pouring into the bucket as if they wanted to be caught. Every time Stanley hooked a line out into the waters, not even ten seconds later, does he catch another fish. He managed to capture some of the pink ones, including a few with only a couple of splotches on them. By now, he has fifteen in total, enough to last them for a while. He folded away his gear and walked inside the cabin with the bucket in his hand, ready to show off his progress to Ford, who reacted with delight. 

“Stanley! This is wonderful! I have so many test subjects now!” Stan laughed at his eagerness, pulling the bucket away from Ford, who was about to grab it.

“Hey! Lemme put away some of the ones I want to eat first, ya nerd,” He said. 

Ford smiled in amusement and raised his hands in surrender, letting Stan slide by into the galley. When Stan finished putting away their future meals, Ford grabbed a couple of samples from the stash and happily skipped off to his study. He was keen on beginning his experiments, dying to find out what could’ve been the cure to their previous happenings, why these fish are pink. Stan followed closely by, having nothing better to do and was secretly just as eager as Ford. 

However, it wasn’t enough. Though Stan did manage to catch a lot of fish, there were only five of them that were pink, including three splotched ones. Not to mention, they were different species, which was a massive variable, according to Ford. He sighed, leaning back in his chair, unintentionally disconcerting Stan. 

“I won’t be able to continue researching this without more test samples,” he muttered, disappointed. Stan jolted up from his seat, a folded chair he pulled out right next to Ford’s swivel chair that was anchored to the floor. 

“Say no more! I got ya, Sixer. Be right back.” And with that, he quickly ran off, grabbing his fisherman gear.

“But Stan! I don’t think we should catch too many-” But he was already out the door. Ford rubbed the back of his neck, nervously. It’s true; there was plenty of life in the sea. But he felt a bit uneasy at the thought of disrupting the ecosystem while it’s still amid its rebirth. He gave up with a shrug and brought out the scalpel, deciding he could at least dissect the partially-pink ones and take a look to see if their insides were affected the same way their scales were. There’s no point trying to convince Stanley out of his longing to please Ford. Or anyone for that matter. And Ford wasn’t willing to try and bother with it.

__

Stan attached a lure to the line and tossed it out the waters. He watched the bobber, waiting for another catch. So far, he has caught two more pink ones and released seventeen normal fish. He was hoping he could catch a couple extra for dinner later, a little curious to see how they would taste. Not to mention, Ford was raring to experiment and learn about their discovery and had to endure the stress of trying to solve a seemingly unsolvable problem earlier. Stan was sick of seeing him feel so distraught. He has to help him out with this new scientific adventure if it meant making Ford feel better. Besides, he loves fishing. It’s like killing two birds with one stone. And there could be a possibility that Ford will be so grateful, he will treat him to something. Maybe he’ll finally be allowed to steal the treasure from that haunted pirate ship they passed. It’s worth the whole cursing thing Ford warned him about. They can’t be that bad compared to whatever they’ve been through before.

The bobber disappeared beneath the surface, bringing Stan out his thoughts. Reflexively, he reeled the line in, surprised by the strength of whatever was on the other end. He nearly toppled over the railway and lost his fishing pole had it not been for his ability to quickly shift gears and use his strength to straighten himself up and pull in his catch. 

“Jeez, putting up a hell of a fight, are we?” He grinned. He decided whatever he caught, no matter if it was pink or not, he will keep it. The more he pulled, the more it fought, clearly unwilling to be reeled in. He backed himself against the wall, grunting under the effort not to lose his pole and the damn… whatever it was he managed to catch. He gave up and grabbed the line itself.

“Fucking- Yer not getting away that easily!” He groaned under the weight and hauled it in, tumbling over once it landed on the boat. Muttering curses under his breath, he sat up on his knees, dusting himself off and smoothed out any wrinkles in his clothes. He expected to catch a giant fish, like a shark or something. Instead, he saw something much more humanoid. 

Before him stood a figure made entirely out of seaweed, with curly hair-like tendrils on top of its head. It looked around for a bit, gazing at the sky, the sea, the cabin, the floors, before finally settling its eyes on Stanley. A couple of seconds passed, spent by nothing but staring. Staring and waiting. Stan has never felt more awkward in his entire life, not even during high school.

“Uhhhh….. How’s it hanging?” He asked, more like an actual question than a simple greeting. The creature opened its mouth to roar or yell; it wasn’t entirely clear. It opened its arms, running at Stan, who screamed and scrambled off. 

"Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck-" Stan chanted in fear and confusion as he ran around the cabin, the creature right at his heels. He wrenched the entrance door open and ran inside, trying to close the door, but the creature was too quick. Stan tried to punch it in the face but missed several times, for it had far sharper reflexes than him. Damn old age. He gave up and fled to the study, not wanting to fight alone.

"FORD!!" He cried. "I CAUGHT SOMETHING!" Ford was about to snap at him for being so loud over something so trivial, such as catching a swordfish. They have plenty to eat. He needed more samples, not more food. He quickly shut his mouth when he saw the creature, which lunged right at him. He yelled as he toppled over under its weight while Stan tried to pry it off from his brother. Having his brother get attacked wasn’t part of his plan. He needed help, not this. He tried pulling it off by the waist only to hear fits of giggles erupting from Ford. 

"W-Wait! Stop! I'm ticklish!" Ford pleaded, trying to wrench himself away from the creature who was nuzzling itself against Ford, pressing its face against his cheek and holding his waist as if trying to hug him. Stan pulled back, confused. 

"It's… it's not attacking you?" 

"Stop!" Ford gasped, struggling to breathe. "S-Stan! It's tickling me!" He was already red in the face, weakly pushing away the creature, which refuses to let him go. Stan snapped out of it and reached for its wrists. 

"Hey! He said stop!" Instantly, the creature ceased its assault and sat back, looking blankly at the twins. Ford leaned back against his chair, his arm resting on the seat while he took deep breaths. He rested his other hand over his heaving chest, trying to calm himself down so he can speak.

“Wha-,” he huffed. “What is that?” 

“I don’t know!” Stan said, exasperated. “I just caught it, and then it started chasing me ‘round the boat. I tried fighting it, but it’s just too fast.” Ford nodded before standing up, along with Stan. He gazed at the creature, which stared at him before standing up as well. Thoughts rattled in his head as he tried to discern what class of mythological beings it could belong to. He held its arm, inspecting it and running his hands over its fibrous skin.

“Huh, interesting,” he whispered. “A being made entirely out of seaweed.” The creature allowed him to caress his arm until it got curious and decided to caress Ford’s arm as well. Ford snapped up in surprise, and the creature copied his movements. Ford lifted his hand, inquiring to see if it would copy him again. And sure enough, it did. It even grew an extra finger to mirror Ford’s hands. He snickered in amazement and resumed inspecting the creature. Stan remained still in the sidelines, bewildered at the sight before him. He watched as Ford gently probed at the creature’s “hair,” to which it copied him by ruffling Ford’s, causing laughter to bubble out of him. 

“Man,” Stan sighed. “Like a baby copying his father. It’s like it was born yesterday.” 

“Maybe even sooner,” Ford replied. Stan grunted in surprise and confusion, which the creature copied.

“This might be a potential side effect from the pink light we just saw. It brought in new life!” Ford gestured in excitement, the creature behind him mirroring his movements.

“This is unprecedented,” Ford continued. “Not only did the fish come back with strange new colors, but we also have a new creature as well. I wonder if that means it can bring back the dead. I mean, think about it! That could explain why the fish are pink. Would we consider those zombies? Since they used to be dead but now they are alive again. Although, they are nothing like the ones I’ve seen.”

Stan stared at him pacing around the room with the creature following behind in shock until something clicked in his head.

“Wait,” he said, raising his arms. “If that’s the case, wouldn’t there be more of those things?”

“Let’s not call it ‘things,’ alright? Let’s call it...” Ford stared at the creature, deciding on a name. He shifted his gaze to its hair, thinking about how it swirls around like a…. “Peony!”

“Peony?” Stan repeated, feeling fed up by Ford and “Peony.”

“Yes, doesn’t their hair remind you of those flowers?” Ford emphasized his words by gently playing with Peony’s hair, causing it to giggle. Though, giggle is a kind word to describe whatever sound it’s making.

“Whatever. But like I said, wouldn’t there be more of those ‘Peonies’ you mentioned?” Stan asked, creating air quotes at the creature’s new name. Ford hesitated.

“Um…. I don’t know. Perhaps?”

“You don’t know?”

“....Maybe we should check?”

“Ya think?” Stan snapped. The two scampered outside, followed by Peony. Stan inwardly groaned when he realized the name stuck.

The water was still, and it remained clear as glass. They all gazed down below and saw nothing that resembled their new crewmate. _Hopefully a temporary one,_ Stan thought. They searched all around in all directions, but nothing came up.

“That’s weird,” Stan grumbled, scratching his head in thought. “You figured there’d be a lot more these guys.”

“They can’t be the only one,” Ford thought aloud. “Can they?” The two looked at Peony, who remained gazing out at sea. Were they also searching for more of their kin, or were they just simply copying the twins? Stan felt a stab of sympathy at the thought that Peony might be all alone, the only seaweed person in the world. He suppressed it, stubbornly. It still might have some malicious intentions up its non-existent sleeve, and Stan wasn’t willing to find out the hard way.

“Excuse me, Peony,” Ford placed a hand on top of their shoulder, bringing their attention to him. It looked a little confused as they pointed a finger at themselves. “Yes, I’m talking to you. Do you, by any chance, have more of your kind?”

“Ford, quit asking them questions. It can’t understand you.” Stan forcibly tried to forget that they, in fact, _can_ understand them as he remembered that they understood the command “stop” Stan had shouted when they attacked Ford with tickles. Ford ignored Stan and continued talking to Peony.

“I’m sure there’s more out there that look like you. If there are, would you mind bringing them up here? We’d love to meet them.”

“I wouldn’t. Ford, shut up.” 

Peony stared at Ford before looking down at the floor in contemplation. As if they came to a conclusion, they looked towards the ocean again, sucked in a big deep breath, cupped their hands, and called out a mighty roar. As mighty as a lion cub, though the volume was immense. Ford and Stan covered their ears and the boat shook as the vibration of their voice created many waves in the water to form. After a few agonizingly long seconds of yelling had passed, Peony placed their hands down onto the railing and looked out through squinted eyes, waiting for their friends to arrive. Stan and Ford hesitated before unplugging their ears. Stan muttered a quiet ‘what the fuck’ in disbelief before he saw something he had hoped he wouldn’t.

In the distance, they could see tiny shadows approaching them. Their numbers increased as they swam closer and closer to the boat, making Ford and Stan step back in apprehension. Peony, on the other hand, appeared excited, bouncing on their heels as they watched their family meet the boat. Stan readied himself for another fight while Ford hesitated but then resolved himself. The “Peonies” touched the boat once they made contact before climbing onboard. The twins realized that the creatures came in from all directions, effectively surrounding them. They’ve crowded the two, while the rest remained in the waters. 

“...Shit,” Ford breathed out.

“Now you know why this was a bad idea?” Stan criticized. 

“Well, obviously, I didn’t expect it to turn out this way!”

“Well, obviously, it’s because you got no common sense!” Ford didn’t reply back, too angry and disappointed to even think of a comeback. “When the hell they gonna attack anyways?”

The creatures didn’t do anything other than staring. Were they waiting for the twins to make their first move? Are they themselves unsure of what to do? Or were they just simply waiting for the right moment? Stan was about to reach into his back pocket for his brass knuckles when a “Peony” lunged at him, followed by many more. He cursed loudly as he was knocked over, followed by Ford. They wriggled around, trying to run away from these creatures and fight back until a Peony began unintentionally tickling Ford again. A couple more joined in. They hugged Ford and pressed their faces against him while he struggled to wrench himself away.

“No! Come on!” Stan cried. He pushed them away and crawled over to Ford. He grabbed a Peony by the waist and pulled one from him. “Quit! Whatever you’re doing, quit!”

They obeyed his demand and sat back, while Ford lied down on his back as he struggled to compose himself. He found it hard to contain his laughter. The more he thought how ridiculous these creatures are and their “attacks,” the more he giggled. He hid his face behind his hands as he tried to call himself down, which didn’t help one bit.

“Quit laughing! We gotta fight!” Stan yelled, trying to pull Ford up to his feet who wasn’t cooperating.

“N-No! We don’t!”

“Why not!?”

“They d-don’t wanna fight!” Ford’s speech slurred in the midst of his giggles. “See?” He got on to his palms and knees as he gestured out to the crowd of Peonies. He wasn’t wrong. They stood by and waited for Ford to calm down. One even knelt down beside him and rubbed his back while another crawled towards him to check on him. Stan sat back in dismay. All this time they’ve been out on the ocean, creatures came in left and right for a fight. And when they didn’t fight, they waited. They always had some ulterior motive. The only other creatures that were this nice were the ones that simply stood back and let the twins do their own thing. This was different. And Stan couldn’t help the chuckles that were bubbling up from his stomach.

“Ford, stop laughing for Pete’s sake.” 

“I can’t!” Ford clutched his belly. He knew laughter was contagious, which only made it harder to stop it.

“Sixer, stop!” 

“I’m trying!”

“Well then, try harder!” Stan shoved Ford who simply rolled over onto his side. Full-blown laughter erupted from them and the crowd of Peonies joined them. Ford clutched his stomach while Stan braced his palms on his knees as he tried to stop himself from coughing. It took a long while, but eventually, everything calmed down and the twins hoisted themselves up with help from a few Peonies. 

"Thank you," murmured Ford. "And I know this sets the bar low, but thank you, everyone, for not attacking us. At least, not with the intent to harm us. You are very kind." The crowd of Peonies blushed and giggled. A few of them rubbed the back of their necks. Ford and Stan chuckled at their bashfulness. _Well, what do you know,_ Stan thought. _I guess these guys aren’t all bad, after all._ After a moment of contemplation, an idea popped into his head.

"Let's have a few of them stick around," Stan suggested. "You needed some help with your sciencey stuff, right? I bet these guys know more about this than you." Ford smiled, happy to see Stan is finally giving them a chance.

"Oh, I can't argue with that. There have been a couple of things I've been wondering." Ford walked over to a Peony and stretched out his hand. "Come along then. And if there's anyone else who would like to join, please. I could use some help with my research. Raise your hand if you'd like to join."

Everyone raised their hands, which startled the twins. 

"Uhhhhh, looks like you're gettin' popular there, Ford," Stan said with a sheepish grin. "Alright, line up, folks! This guy can only take so many fans at once!” They did as they were told. The line of Peonies wrapped around the cabin thrice, unnerving Ford.

“Uh, I’ll only need a few assistants and subjects. How about you take some, Stan? Don’t you want any fishing buddies?” Stan considered the offer before shrugging.

“Yeah, sure. Why not? Let's see," Stan interlaced his fingers and tapped his chin, pretending to think. "Eenie, meenie, minie… you three." He pointed at a section of Peonies from the line. "And Ford, you'll only need three assistants, right? You three as well. The rest of you are test subjects."

And with that decision, Stan walked off with three Peonies trailing him behind. Ford stood there, blinking for a short while before he gathered himself. 

"Alright, I guess it's decided. Well, you heard Stan. Come, you three. I'll need some help setting up. The rest of you stay in line." 

With his newly found helpers, Ford walked inside the cabin to begin his experiments, grinning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What?? It's not the final chapter?? No, I'm afraid not. Idk if this is good news or bad news for you. But the chapter I was writing on was getting a little too long and I still have a bit more to write. And I kinda felt like it's been a while since I've last posted. So I figured, why not? You know? Anyways, here it is! The second-to-last chapter!


	5. The Peonies

“You take this hat,” Stan said, plopping a blue fishing hat on top of a Peony. “From now on, you’ll be Mister Blue. Hey, come over here!” Stan gestured the other one to his side and plopped a pink one on. “Now your name is Pinky. And your name is Butter.” Stan placed a yellow hat on top of the third Peony. 

“Alright, now that you guys are set up, it’s time for y’all to learn the art of fishing. The rest of y’all, stand back and watch. Don’t wanna get a hook caught in yer ear.” Stan stretched out his arms in gesture before readying himself a pole.

“Now, listen up. This,” he pointed at the tool in his hand. “Is a fishing pole. It has a lot of string on it and at the end of this string is a hook. We put this bait right here on it and throw it out into the waters. Here, you try it.” Stan handed the pole to Mister Blue. They fiddled with it, twisting it around, trying to figure out how it works. They founded the hook on the end and gave it a shake before looking out to the ocean. They let out a little 'aha!' and threw the pole into the ocean, smiling.

"No!" Stan cried as he tried to catch it, but it was too late. Mister Blue looked at him with excitement, ready to be praised. Stan felt the urge to berate them subside as he looked into their beaming eyes. He sighed and patted them on the shoulder. 

"Well, we lost a fishing pole, but it's fine! This is why we have backups! We only have one less pole, okay? Big deal. We still have like ten other poles plus a couple fly-fishing ones. As long as no one throws anymore into the ocean, we're fine."

A seagull flew in, cawing and crying, trying to capture a Peony in its talons. Butter threw a pole at it in self-defense, effectively scaring it away but consequently lost the pole in the waters. 

"Nine! We have nine poles. Just… quit losing them, okay?" As if in question, Pinky held up a pole over the rail.

"Yes! That's right." They dropped the pole. "NO!" Stan watched in dismay as the pole drifted away from the boat, further and further out of reach. The crowd of Peonies that remained in the waters watched the poles float and they poked and prodded at them with curiosity. Stan heaved a heavy sigh.

“We’ll get them later. But for now, we have eight. And only I can use those eight poles until you guys learn how to use them. Capiche?” He turned around and pointed a finger at the trio of Peonies and it was obvious to them that he wasn’t looking for any arguments. They nodded as they huddled together, feeling a little guilty.

“Good. Now,” Stan readied himself the pole. “Stand back and watch how a pro does it.” He swished the pole back and forth a couple of times, loosening the line, and then cast the hook out to the waters. It made a gentle splash and the bobber rested on the surface.

“Ya see that? That’s what we call a bobber. If it disappears, it means we caught something.” As if on cue, the bobber dipped beneath and Stan felt the telltale tug on the line. “Good timing! Watch!” Stan turned the reel handle quickly, occasionally slacking the line and then yanking it. After a few seconds, Stan lifted up to reveal a small fish. 

“Tada!” Stan proudly exclaimed. “See? Easy, when you know what to do. Now we just unhook this little fella and toss it in the bucket.” Stan performed just that before turning back to the trio of Peonies. “Now, it’s your turn. And this time, I’ll guide you three, one at a time. Butter, you’re up first.” Butter jumped in surprise before running over to Stan. He handed the pole to Butter and stood behind them, gently grabbing their hands and positioning them. Butter kept looking around, trying to search for Stanley until they saw him back off to the side.

“There we go. You’re all set.” He gave a heavy pat on their back. “Now, work yer magic.” Butter looked at him in confusion then startled and quickly readied themselves. They copied his movements exactly, swishing the pole back and forth and then tossing the line out to the waters. Stan watched them for a short while before nodding and then walked over to the other two. 

“Alright, your turn, Pinkie.” Stan equipped them the same way he did for Butter and then did the same for Mister Blue. The three stood there with their bait in the waters, intensely waiting for a bite. Stan placed his hands on his hips and watched them carefully. 

It wasn’t long until Pinkie’s bobber disappeared beneath the surface of the water, a sure sign that they caught something. In a panic, they’ve forgotten the instructions and hopped around, grunting in apprehension. 

“Hey! Hey, calm down, little fella!” Stan went behind them and grabbed their hands, placing them in the right positions. “Just reel it in. Reel it in. You can do it.”

They quickly did just that, the whirring sounds of the line drawing in echoing in their ears.

“That’s right. You’re doing great.” With the line all the way in, it was revealed that Pinkie had caught a herring, wriggling on the hook. Pinkie stared at it in amazement. 

“Nicely done! It’s even bigger than mine. Keep it up and you’ll be a pro!” Stan gave them a hefty pat on the back and they blushed, pride welling up inside them. 

Soon enough, all three of them have been catching more and more fish. Stan felt like a proud father on a fishing day with his kids. He chuckled at the thought of raising a trio of seaweed creatures and let them be, strutting inside the cabin to check on Ford.

\-----------------------------------

A Peony sat on one of the bunk beds, waiting on Ford for their examination. Ford gathered many papers, several books, notebooks, pens, highlighters, and sticky notes. His assistants, two Peonies, helped him by organizing them on the table. Once he was satisfied with the setup, he turned to the Peony awaiting the procedure patiently.

“Alright, straighten your back for me,” he asked them, smiling sweetly at them. He had a lab coat on, not wanting to ruin his outfit, and equipped a stethoscope into his ears. They did so, allowing him to place the stethoscope against their chest. The cold of the metal made them flinch, unintentionally startling him, and he retracted himself.

"I'm sorry. I'll warm this up for you." He cupped the metal, occasionally blowing his hot breath on it, bringing it to a more comfortable temperature. "I suppose that means you can feel heat. Or lack of it. I wonder what your limit is." He ponders while searching for a heartbeat, or any beat that would indicate what would be anatomically similar to a heart but fitting for a plant-like creature. He contemplated cutting them open but shook his head.

“No, not at least until one of them is dead. And I’d rather that be a while.” While there was an occasional thrumming sound, it affected the whole body, rather than coming from a singular source. 

“Interesting,” he mumbled. “This calls for an X-Ray.” He stood up and began to search, only to remember they don’t have one on board. He inwardly cursed.

“Well,” he sighed. “I suppose that means one of you will have to tag along for the sake of my research.” They perked up at the mention of tagging along, amusing him. He huffed out a chuckle, shaking his head. Their personalities were so childlike. Eager to please and full of wonder at the smallest of things. He walked back to the Peony on the bed and resumed his examination. Beside the Peony was a large, black, leather bag, filled with medical instruments. Ford pulled out an otoscope and probed the sides of the Peony’s head, searching for an auricular opening. Only, there were none.

“Hmm, that’s odd.” Despite showing clear signs of hearing earlier today, the Peony had no holes in the sides of their heads. Not even ones hidden by flaps, much like birds. Ford deduced that they might have outer eardrums, like frogs, and began to gently probe for the soft tissue, careful not to accidentally rupture it. However, the texture of the skin remained the same throughout the head. 

“Ah-ha! Perhaps you are more akin to insects. Your ears lie somewhere else on your body.” But after much inspection, there remained no signs of any eardrums, flaps, holes, or anything that indicated signs of hearing. And speaking of holes, there were none, save for the two eyes and the occasional mouth that would appear. 

“Well, I suppose that rules out inspection of your digestive and reproductive system. But that now brings up other questions. Where and how do you get your energy? Since you are plantlike, I would hypothesize it would be through photosynthesis. Yes, that would make sense. Much like actual seaweed. You should also be able to reproduce the same way, sexually and asexually. That begs the question, though, of where you keep the sorus. Would it be gathered in one particular spot or among the blades? Hmm, very interesting.” 

As he monologued, he brought out a pencil and began a sketch of one in his journal, writing down his thoughts every now and then. Once he was satisfied with his initial sketch, he set the book down aside and resumed his stance next to the Peony on the bed. He hadn’t noticed the other two reopening his journal to observe his drawing. 

“Well, after I get the other rudimentary procedures out of the way, then I’ll conduct more intensive research on how you decipher sounds.” He pulled out a flat, wooden stick from the bag. “Now, open your mouth for me and stick out your tongue.”

The Peony did so. Ford placed the stick on top of their tongue, encouraging them to open further so he can see inside. To his surprise, a little crab poked out, snapping its claws. It hopped out and crawled away on the floor to the open door. Ford was too stunned to catch it, allowing it to escape. He cleared his throat and resumed examining the Peony’s orifice. 

“I’m sure your little friend will come back,” he mumbled with a small smile, still looking uneasy. The Peony simply stared at him blankly, perhaps just as confused as he is. Or maybe they only feel indifference to the situation. He peered inside and saw a small hole in the back of their throat. They have no digestive system, after all, and their chests do not rise with breaths like most creatures. For such a kinetic creature, it's surprising that its only method of creating and using energy is through photosynthesis. It must be a very efficient system, something that must have been advanced by the light.

“Do you even sleep?” Ford wonders aloud. To which he is answered by no one. 

“I think I shall conclude that the only reason you have a hole in the back of your throat is to make room for vocal cords. Otherwise, how else would you make a sound? Ah, but only those with lungs have vocal cords. Since we need air to talk and such. That is particularly confusing.” He turned around to pick up the journal but stopped himself when he saw the two Peonies still perusing it. They jumped and immediately set it down, pretending as if Ford didn’t see them snooping.

“Oh! Are you curious?” He said, a crooked smile forming as he picked the book up. He flipped through the pages back to the entry and then stood between them. 

“This is still a work in progress, but I’d be more than happy to show the process of how I record information. And if you can, I’d appreciate it if you could lend me some knowledge about your species as well. For example, have you already established a home base?” They didn’t answer that. Instead, they stared at him, as if they wanted to say something, but couldn’t. Ford did recall they can absolutely understand language, but to communicate with words, that was a different story. He sighed.

“Well, perhaps I could find a different way to talk with your species. Maybe you might even develop a language on your own. Stan and I could visit again a year later to see how much has changed.”

“What’s all this talk of visiting?” Ford turned around and saw Stan walking through the hallway towards their bedroom. He hadn’t heard the thudding of his footsteps like he usually has, too engrossed in his research to notice. A quiet voice in his berated him for being too careless, but he shook it off. It’s not like that anymore, said the logical part of his mind. Ford is safe. Stan is safe. They’re safe.

“Well, if it isn’t too much trouble, perhaps we ought to check on them next year. To observe their progress.” Stan shrugged, leaning against the doorway.

“Eh, maybe we can make some time for it. Just a bit though.” He emphasized his point by holding up two fingers pinched together. Ford nodded, affirming his need for relaxation. 

“How did the fishing go?” Ford asked. Stan chuckled, shaking his head.

“It took a few tries, but they caught on quick. Fishing ain’t that hard and the water’s great right now. How about you?”

“Great, actually. They’re fascinating creatures.” Ford walked over to Stan and handed his journal to him, showing him his research. Stan looked over it while Ford talked about his findings.

“They don’t have a digestive system, which is reasonable, considering that they’re plants. I have detected a heart-like beating within them, but it’s not concentrated in one spot, meaning their entire being has a beat, not one singular organ. I’m beginning to wonder if they have tiny heart-like organs within their leaves. And with that thought, could they be an amalgamation of many organisms fused into one being? Like the Portuguese Man o’War, for example. Though, it’s very sophisticated. And not at all like the Gnome giant, which could only hold its form for a couple hours and through deliberate practice, at least. I also still have questions about how they came into being. I’m certain the light caused it, but how? How did it play out? And also- Stanley, what are you doing?”

If it wasn’t for Ford’s jabbering, he would’ve been able to stop Stanley from writing in his journal. Without his permission.

“Just doing a bit of touch-ups, Fordsy. Don’t mind me.”

“Stan!” Ford lunged for the journal, but Stan held it up over their heads and out of reach. All while wearing a mischievous grin. “What did you write in there!? You didn’t scratch anything out, did you!?”

“Of course not!” Stan laughed before handing it back to him. “Just wanted to contribute a little something is all.” Ford snatched it from, giving him a glare before looking through it again, making sure he was true to his word. His eyes widen and he heaved a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Stan, these are not Kelpies.”

“They could be. It has the word ‘kelp’ in the name, don’t it?”

“It’s ‘doesn’t,’ Stanley. And Kelpies are Celtic shapeshifters who reside near the shores of Scotland.”

“But that checks out, right? Shapeshifters. Water.”

“Yes, but they typically take on the form of black horses or humans.”

“Well, we got some humanoid creatures right here. Maybe they got tired of the ol’ horse schtick.” Stan walked over to the Peony on the bed and ruffled its hair. A few pieces of seaweed fluttered down, startling Stan. “Oh, I’m sorry! I, uh, didn’t think that would happen.”

The Peony looked at the floor where the strands have fallen down, not appearing to be in pain. Ford gathered a few from the ground and inspected them.

“It didn’t seem to harm them. But where would the pain-receptors lie then?”

“Perhaps in places we’d expect,” Stan said with a shrug, picking one up and twirling it between his fingers. “Hey, you think these are edible?”

“Well, if you want to test it out later with your cooking, don’t mind me then.” Stan nodded with a casual grin and sauntered off to the door. Only, something was amiss.

As he stepped out to the hallway, he immediately stopped in his tracks. A fish floundered down. He stared at it, not knowing what to do other than call for Ford. Because although he had no evidence, he had a feeling in his gut that something was very wrong.

“What is it this time?” Ford asked with a sigh and then caught sight of the fish. “Oh, a little fish. I guess it escaped from the bucket.” The bucket. Of course. Stan picked up the little guy and ran up to the deck, Ford tailing him behind. 

“Wait!” Ford yelled. “What are you running for?” Stan didn’t stop to answer. He just kept his pace and refused to stop until he arrived at the scene, unfolding exactly as expected.

As it turns out, one must tell Peonies when to stop catching fish. Otherwise, they would have a deck covered in all sorts of aquatic life. There were albacore, drumfish, groupers, a marlin, two swordfish, some scamp, and many more they couldn’t identify because they were buried underneath by their fellow captures. The twins ran up to the Peonies and grabbed the poles from them.

“STOP! That’s enough!” They cried. They dropped the poles by the wayside and the twins immediately began to chuck fish back into the ocean, some requiring team effort. The Peonies stood in shock, but then started to help them. After minutes of hucking their hunt back to its home, followed by many more of cleaning the deck, Stan and Ford flopped to the ground, their backs against the wall. Their chests heaved from the exertion and they could tell they’ll be feeling the aftershocks in their backs tomorrow. 

“I think,” Ford huffed. “I think that’s everything.”

“Everything hurts,” Stan whined, rubbing his shoulders. Mister Blue crouched down beside him and rubbed the sore spot for him, looking guilty. Butter and Pinkie stood around, pensively looking at them.

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Stan said, waving an arm. “It’s not your fault you caught so much. I didn’t tell you when to stop. You did great.” They looked a little better after hearing that, but they didn’t cheer up immediately. “Hey now. You still depressed over it? Come on, cheer up! ‘S not like you wrecked anything.”

“Yes, things could’ve gotten a lot worse. And besides, it was an accident,” said Ford, giving them a sympathetic smile. Their mood didn’t seem to change much. Stan felt guilt rising up in his stomach, causing it to growl. No, wait. That’s not right.

“Ah dammit. We didn’t eat anything today,” he groaned, slapping a palm to his forehead. Ford clutched his stomach, now feeling the hunger pains.

“You’re right. We didn’t even have a proper breakfast. And I was just about to get better about my eating habits.” Stan stood up quickly, bracing an arm against the wall of the cabin.

“Well, that won’t do.” He marched off, picking up the bucket full of fish on the way. Ford and the trio of Peonies followed him behind. Meanwhile, the rest of the creatures remained on the deck and spent their time watching the clouds.

Stan marched into the galley and dropped the bucket on the counter. He picked up a halibut from the container, studied it, shrugged, and flopped it on the counter. He picked up the sharpest knife and started cutting it up, readying it for cooking. 

“Hey, can you grab those little leaves we left behind?” He asked Ford. Ford nodded with a hum and went to go pick them up from the bedroom. As he walked in, he waved at the trio of Peonies who stayed behind.

“Hey, sorry we left you behind. You can keep sitting there if you like. We’ll be resuming our research soon. Just keep on browsing and organizing. Maybe you’ll even find something in there for us.” He ruffled the ‘hair’ on one of the Peonies, creating more flakes. He collected them and walked back to the galley.

He picked a bowl from the cabinet and dropped them inside. He picked up a flake and inspected it, observing its coloration. The leaf itself was a light green, translucent like a one-ply tissue paper. The veins were pink, interestingly enough. He hummed in thought and grabbed a notebook from one of the drawers, jotting down his findings for later. 

“Here,” Ford said, once he was finished with his writing. He set the bowl near Stan for him. Stan gave his thanks and went back to gutting. 

Several minutes passed until Stan placed the fillets on the grill. He picked up a leaf from the bowl and sniffed it, figuring out how to use the seaweed. He huffed a quiet ‘meh’ and tore off a piece of foil and folded it into a makeshift bowl. He placed it inside the grill next to the fish and dropped the leaf inside, frying it.

Ford spent the time watching Stan, partly trying to learn a thing or two about how to grill something and not burn it, but also for some entertainment. Watching Stan cook has been a favorite pastime of his, when he’s not busying himself with research. He crossed his arm and leaned his back against the counter, watching him poke at the fish and leaf every now and then. 

Suddenly, a bang sounded out from the bedroom, nearly making Stan slip and accidentally burn himself. Ford ran to the source, while Stan towed behind after he set the pan aside and turned the burner off.

Inside the room were scattered papers, books flopped onto their open undersides which will definitely create annoying little creases in the pages, a cup of Ford’s chewed pens that are now rolling on the floor, a scared Peony backing themself against the wall of the bunk bed, two more huddled in a corner who are shaking uncontrollably, broken glass all over the floor, a cage with an unhinged door, and an anomaly Ford was studying in the corner, growling menacingly. 

“Shit,” Stan muttered. 

Ford lunged at the creature, trying his best to subdue and paralyze it so he can place it back into its confines. It dodged him, slinking this way and that, effectively avoiding Ford. He chased it around the room for a while until he felt a knob from one of the drawers. He pulled it open and slipped on his shock-gloves, turning it on. The anomaly crept away from Ford, closer and closer to the bunk bed. 

Stan had already placed himself between the two Peonies in the corner and the confrontation happening before him. But now he’s paralyzed, struggling to decide whether or not he should block them from backing into the other Peony and risk leaving the other two vulnerable. He didn’t have a chance to decide anymore. The time given to make a choice disappeared the moment the creature backed into the bed, hopped onto it as if it thinks that’s its escape route, only to find an intruder blocking it from any sort of safety. 

It reacted immediately, baring its teeth and lunging at the unfortunate Peony. It tore at their lower leg, sinking its teeth into its supposed enemy. Ford dove at it and punched the creature, forcing it to release its victim. The Peony, now free, ran away to the corner and behind Stan. Stan widened his stance to shield all three of them. 

Now that the creature has released itself, Ford grabbed hold of it, shocking it with his gloves. Sparks of light flashed through the room. Ford closed his eyes as he did so, in order to prevent the onset of a photosensitive seizure. He halted his attack and held unto the anomaly’s scruff and hoisted it up. Now with it fainted, Ford could safely put it back into its cage and place the door back into its hinges. He heaved a sigh, fatigue catching up to him, and turned around.

The Peonies trembled behind Stan, clutching him desperately. Stan stared at Ford, unsure of what to do. Once his thoughts caught up to him of what just happened, he closed his eyes and sank down to the floor, holding his head.

“Christ,” he muttered. “We can’t leave these guys for five seconds.” 

“You’re telling me,” replied Ford, sitting beside him. The Peonies shuffled around and sat with them. Ford looked at the one next to him and suddenly remembered their injury.

“Oh, stars! Your leg!” He gasped, gently bringing it closer to him for inspection. Lines of torn teeth marks littered their limb. There was no blood or anything close to it, but the sight alone was still gruesome. The other two Peonies and Stan crawled closer to look and grimaced. 

“I’m so sorry,” Ford whispered. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. Normally, the anomaly I was studying is quite tame. It must’ve been so scared. Oh my God. I am so sorry.” He dropped his head, guilt overriding his intellect, unable to think of anything. He screwed up again. Like he always did.

Stan placed a heavy hand on his brother’s shoulder, opening his mouth to console him. It wasn’t his fault. But trying to tell him does nothing. Ford always finds a way to claim responsibility. ‘If I had watched over them, if I had just used a stronger cage, if I hadn’t trusted them to be alone with a monster.’ And so on and so forth. Still, he had to reassure him somehow. Stan can’t stand the sight of seeing Ford so dejected, not after 30 long years of physical and mental torture. Maybe even longer.

However, he was stopped before even a syllable was uttered. The two other Peonies crawled over and gently lifted up the leg, assessing it. Ford lifted his head and stared, unsure if he should stop them in case they exacerbate the wound. But the injured Peony allowed them, no trace of anxiety evident on their expression. One of the Peonies tilted down and gently pressed their mouth, or the spot where their mouth would be, to the wound. The twins stared at them, confused. The Peony sat back and the seaweed tendrils of the cut moved, twisting and winding and entwining themselves until all that remained was a scar, a mere memory.

All the twins could do was stare. The Peony stood up and tested their leg, slowly setting its weight on it, tapping the floor, and then hopping on it. Once they realized that they were fully healed, they danced around, grunting and laughing in joy. The two other Peonies joined in the celebration. Ford coughed and adjusted his glasses.

“Well, I suppose I ought to add ‘healing kisses’ to the journal.”

“Oh!” Stan snapped his fingers as he had an epiphany. “That explains their ‘attacks’ earlier!” Ah, when they pressed their faces into him.

“So does that mean it’s also a greeting?” Stan shrugged, standing up and dusting himself off.

“Who knows?” Ford remained on the floor, watching the Peonies dance, until another one barged into the room. Everyone jolted at the sound. The Peony grunted, waving their arms and frantically saying… something. The twins didn’t understand a word they uttered, but it didn’t matter. The trio nodded and ran off, following the other behind them. Stan and Ford shuffled after them, wondering what the hell is wrong now.

Their dinner wasn’t on fire, that’s for sure, thanks to Stan’s foresight of setting it aside. The deck above wasn’t messy. They had already taken care of that. 

But it is empty.

All of the remaining Peonies are jumping off into the ocean. 

“Hey!” Stan called. “What’s the big idea? Where are you going?” A Peony tugged at his sleeve and pointed at the horizon. The sun was setting. Apparently the day is already over. Ford internally groaned at the lost time. How can it end so quickly?

“What? You got a curfew?” Stan asked the Peony. They let go of his sleeve and walked over to the rail, hoisting a leg over it. The other three Peonies, Mister Blue, Pinky, and Butter, took off their hats and handed them to Stan. He stared at them, mouth ajar. Once the realization set in, he shoved them back.

“Nah, are you kidding me? These belong to you!” They persisted. Why? He doesn’t know. But it sure does hurt regardless.

“Come on now! I gave them to you! They’re yours!” They shook their heads, looking teary-eyed. Stan felt his eyes burn with tears of his own as well and inwardly cursed. _Damn it. I’ve only known them for a day and already! Why am I such a sap?_ He rubbed his arm against his eyes and snatched Butter’s hat. He plopped it on their head and tied it underneath their chin, securing it, and grabbed them by the shoulders.

“You’re keeping it, alright? So don’t you forget us,” he murmured, fixing them a glare. They hesitated. Then nodded. He nodded back and let go of them. 

Mister Blue and Pinky tied their respective fisher hats on as well and walked to the railing. The three of them waved their goodbyes and the twins waved back, watching them jump over the boat and into the sea. Stan and Ford leaned over the railing and watched the Peonies disappear into the depths, the light of the sun leaving them as well. 

Ford heard some sniffling next to him and turned to Stan, his knuckles now white as he gripped the railing.

“Stan?” He hesitantly whispered. “Are you alright?”

“I got something in my eye!” Stan yelled, rubbing them furiously because of the supposed dust in them. Not because he was crying or anything. Ford placed a consoling hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, it’s alright. They won’t be gone forever.”

“I know that! I’m not an idiot,” he grumbled. “Come on! We got dinner to eat.” Ford would comment on the change of subject, but then again, they still need their fuel. A long day with an empty stomach would kick Ford’s bad habits back into high gear, something that Stan absolutely loathes, the hypocrite.

Stan fixed the rest of their dinner. Two large plates of cooked halibut with seasoning, and two small fillets, dusted with the collected flakes from the Peonies. Ford set the table ready as Stan placed the dishes for them.

“Here we go! Dinner… is served.” He gave a dramatic bow, to which Ford playfully rolled his eyes. They sat in their usual chairs and started with the experimental side dishes. The Peony-enhanced fish dinner. 

The moment it touched his tongue, Stan gagged and coughed at the taste.

“Agh! Ugh! Oh- Oh god! Gross!” He chugged his drink in an attempt to wash it down. “Ugh! It’s sweet! What the fuck? It’s too sweet!”

Ford brought a morsel to his mouth and began to eat it. He had a thoughtful look on his face as he chewed, trying to decipher its flavor. He shook his head, swallowed, and muttered a quiet ‘nope’ before sipping his drink. 

“How can you even swallow it, Ford?” Stan asked, appalled. This was the same kid who refused to eat pretty much anything at the dinner table when they were little.

“30 years stuck between dimensions forced me to alter my diet. Which I hated, of course. So when I had the metal plate installed in my head, I also asked Jheselbraum to fix my sense of taste and smell, so I wouldn’t be so picky. I can still taste things, but I’m not as sensitive as I was before. Unfortunately, I can’t handle bland foods very well now.” Stan stared at him as he resumed eating his food before nodding. Not the weirdest thing he’s learned about Ford.

“Well, I think we got a cure for our sweet tooth now,” Stan muttered, starting on his actual dinner. 

“Stan! That’s a brilliant idea!” 

“R-Really? You think so?” Stan gave him an uncertain, lopsided grin. Since when was _Stan_ the curator of ‘brilliant ideas?’ That’s all Ford. Sometimes.

“Why of course! Oh, I ought to study their molecular structure and nutritional makeup. If my theory is correct, these would be much healthier. We could create desserts that won’t negatively affect our diet.” Stan chuckled and shook his head.

“Well, that would make it easier. We won’t have to constantly shop for snacks.”

“Speaking of which,” Ford mumbled. Stan grunted, glancing back up at Ford. “The next time we stop, let’s go home.”

“What? Had enough adventures already?” Ford chuckled.

“I’m afraid so. Besides, summer’s getting close. The sooner we get settled back in Gravity Falls, the better. Besides, we will have next fall to look forward to.” Stan nodded.

“Sounds good to me.” Ford smiled back and continued eating his dinner. The silence between them stretched, but it was not uncomfortable. They finished their meal, cleaned up, and settled in their beds. They mumbled their ‘goodnights’ to each other with a knowing look. Telepathically, they agreed to check up on the Peonies again next time they’re out at sea. They’re certain they’ll still be there, waiting for their return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *crawls out my grave* I'mmmm notttttt DEADDDDDDDD!!!  
> FINAL CHAPTER! IT'S FINALLY HERE! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
> 
> PLEASE LIKE IT OR SOMETHING! No pressure tho.  
> But GOD! It's finally done! Now I can say that I have completed series, instead of just a one-shot! Oh man, am I proud of myself. No regrets! I refuse to read this, in case I do have any.


End file.
